Blood Is Thick
by HarlequinStarling
Summary: ...but, then again, so is yogurt. Snarky, spoiled Lindsay is in for a trip when her father sends her to deliver some 'goods' (i.e. a crapton of drugs) to an island that no one talks about. Will her experiences there set her straight for life? Or, by contrast, will the people she meets tempt her to remain, captivated in a jungle of anarchy and vice? Possible Vaas/OC in later chaps.
1. Chapter 1: All Good Things

_"Take care, lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe."_

~Peter Pan, J. Barry.

* * *

_How did I get here? How the hell? Pan lef-_

FUCK.

Lindsay was broken out of her mental solo number by a bullet grazing a tree to her left.

Her tune quickly changed to a song with the lyrics vaguely translated as:

"FUUUUUCK SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUCK."

She knew it was pointless looking backwards; she heard their shouts and she definitely heard their shots, which was enough for her to continue booking it forward at top speed. And while she was no candy-ass fitness bitch skipping off to the gym each week with a towel and water bottle, she was still able to outrun them, if only for now.

If she could only hold out till night, she thought, exasperated, where she could lose them near the docks. Then she would be home-free to find out what the hell was going on.

And just as in every popular chase scene that begins a movie slash fictional work, this thought was the last one in her head before she tripped.

...

Time for a soprano solo!

She screamed as a rough hand grabbed her ankle.

_Shit fuck. Shit shitty fuck. I'm dead._

_I'm dead._

* * *

"Dad, I swear to sweet Jesus," Lindsay cut in, her mouth drawn in a line tighter than a bowstring, "You're doing a good job of making it seem like this job is no big deal when it is _Rook. Fucking. Island_."

Her father instantly began waving his hands as he often did when pleading to her mother not to go shopping; Lindsay found her eyes rolling into the back of her head, a mix of annoyance and pity churning in her stomach. It wasn't the fact that her father was asking something outrageous of her, it was the simple fucking fact of him acting like it was a field trip that she would learn from, where instead of drug-addled assholes there would be responsible adults who teach you how to make fire and shit.

"Lins, I need you for this, please," and now he was begging, she thought, revulsion coursing through her throat, "and I can't ask anyone else. I don't trust them as much as I do you, and if I just show up there by myself I'll be fucked, so _fucked_."

Sighing, she pushed herself off the stool that sat up against the island in the kitchen. "How much will it get us?" she asked skeptically, walking over to look him square in the eye.

Her dad's worried face softened with hope. "Enough to get us by for another six months, I'm guessing. And that's a lot, Lins, a lot. And you'll be able to afford driving up to Stace's every weekend, too."

"You'll front the gas?" Lindsay didn't believe this for a second.

Her father smiled. "Sure."

It was the fact that he lied that sold her. This must be really, _really _big. She nodded yes.

* * *

And now she stood, perched on the side of a shit ship, drinking a grape Kool-Aid Jammer like it was the best alcohol a rich kid could buy (and frankly, in her own opinion, Jammers would always be better than alcohol anyways) and watching her father's "friends" jump around trying to act like sailor boys. She wondered how her father managed to run such a covert business across the ocean with this bunch of idiots driving the goods around, but her guess was as good as anyone's; as far as she knew, they had never had a problem with any of their customers or the dreaded whoever-it-was-that-caught-drug-traffickers-here-anyway (Police? Navy? Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy?)

A key plot point was presented here, by the way. _As far as she knew_.

But anyways. Back to her story.

Lindsay finished off the last purple droplet by squishing the plastic bottle as flat as it could go, then threw it overboard. She hoped it killed a dolphin or something.

She heard heavy boots thumping in her direction, so she turned away from the water and faced the man who was walking toward her. His name happened to be Tim.

Tim, Linsday would like you to know, was in the same idiot category as the rest of them. But somewhere in her heart, she had developed a softer spot for him; while many of the men around her were stupid by nature, Tim at least tried to get with the times every now and then. He often hung around her house, being the only member of her dad's team that was even remotely close to her age (four year gap, she realized then, and it seemed a lot larger than it really was). Plus he listened to a few good bands, too. At least she hoped he did after she lent him that shitton of CD's. Her thoughts digress.

"Be there in an hour or two tops, we're hoping, miss," Tim said, his slick blonde hair pressed up against his face, matted like dog fur in the rain. Unlike most girls her age who thought it gross, Lindsay thought most men (even Tim, she admitted) looked better sweaty. It made them seem tougher than they really were.

"That's not too bad," she replied, walking over to get a better look at what might be his slightly-forming abs, which were more or less vacuum-packed underneath a bright white T-shirt. After a second or two of blatant staring (that is, with no fear of being caught), she had a thought that vaguely said: _...Nope. I can't see past the time he was high and tried to kiss my pet turtle_, met his eyes, and smiled. Platonically.

This would be a good time to step back and take a good look at Lindsay herself, possibly through what Tim's eyes as they raked up and down her frame.

She had C-cup boobs. This was the first thing Tim looked at, and it will not be changed for the purpose of being polite.

Her hair was a similar blonde to his, only hers was obviously the product of a carefully executed dye-job that her best friend gave her once a month. It was piled on top of her head in some fancy girly bun that kept it out of her face, which was currently suffering from a horrible syndrome known as makeup-under-hot-sun-for-too-long-itis. Tim didn't quite notice this, but to her, it was more or less the equivalent of being buttass fugly, which is why (when she noticed his eyes boring into her face for the reader's sake) she began wiping it all off on her sleeve.

"Got a mirror?" she asked him. When he shrugged no, she walked over to the far end of the ship, where her knapsack lay sprawled over some unlabeled boxes.

Tim watched her as she walked away. Her ass was kinda nice, too. Not big enough for a career as a porn-star actress. But still really, really nice.

Upon her return (makeup now fully removed via a washcloth), Tim was now thinking of all possible ways to convince her into the storage room right then and there. And before the reader gets a chance to think that this is going to be one of those stories where the Mary Sue has every man fall in love with her, the authoress asks you to bear in mind that Tim hasn't seen a solid pair of non-taken tits or ass for about two months on this boat. So put that in your cereal and swallow it whole, please and thank you.

Lindsay returned to her spot on the railing. The ship dipped over the waves. She let her head bounce up and down with it like a bobblehead doll.

She would remain this fucking bored for the rest of the ride.

* * *

"Why does your dad want you to do this, you think?" Tim asked, swinging his tanned legs over the railing beside her.

Lindsay turned her eyes away from the approaching shore and looked at him, hard. "Because he's too lazy to do it himself?"

Tim shook his head. "Nah, Lins. That wouldn't make sense. He's never skipped on a job like this with us in a long time. I mean, the last time he did was when your mom got hit by that deer in her car or something."

Lindsay remembered that. She had hated deer every day after that, and even took up hunting to gain some twisted sort of revenge. The boys at her school made fun of her for it for the longest time, but eventually, she learned to tune them out. And by tune them out she meant threaten them by bringing a (purposely unloaded) rifle to first period.

Her father had not, however, skipped THAT day at work for her. Her mother was the one to pick her up from school after she was suspended.

She snapped out of her thoughts to meet Tim's worried eyes. "Calm down," she murmured, and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. "I've dropped off stuff for dad a million times before. As long as they get what they want, they won't hurt any of us. Dad always said we're too important for them to hurt."

* * *

"I THOUGHT YOU SAID WE WERE TOO IMPORTANT FOR THEM TO-"

"I KNOW, TIM, I KNOW!" Lindsay shouted back, huddling behind a box. Gunfire was ripping through the ship no more than four seconds after it touched the sand; they had been expected, they had been ambushed, and she was now praying for the first time in years.

A gap in the shots; she peeked out from behind. She saw what looked like a small crowd on the shore, and-

Holy fuck they were climbing up the boat. Fuck shit. Fuck shitty fuck.

She felt the entire weight of the ship shift towards the island as they clambered up, their shoes scraping against the windows as they tried to gain footing up the steep side. Lindsay shrunk up against the box, hoping that if she pressed hard enough, she would just morph into it and disappear inside.

Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, or more specifically, pray for me because I'm not really sinning at the moment but I might as well be.

She heard the voices of her shipmates being dragged over the railing, one by one, whoops, there went Tim, until finally, she felt something cold press up against the top of her head (pistol, she thought, not a big gun but still), and a voice say:

"C'mon, princess, we ain't got all day."

She raised her hands as she stood up; the man, a tall, dark, unknown if handsome because he wore a kerchief around his face, grabbed onto her hair and shoved her roughly towards the edge of the boat. Before she had a chance to straighten up, he was pulling her over his shoulder and jumpi-

Fuck.

The water was cold.

* * *

These people were really rude, Lindsay decided.

She was soaking wet and quite tired of kneeling in the same gritty place in the sand for what seems to have been at least twenty minutes. They could at least have had some dry clothes and coffee at the ready.

Her off-white shirt emblazoned with her second-favorite band's logo (we shall spare you the plugging and just insist that Lindsay has very good taste in music) clung to her in the sticky heat, and she found herself regretting that she had cursed the freezing ocean a few moments before. Her shorts felt okay; made of denim, they really didn't cling to the point where she couldn't run, and if they had, she probably would've taken them off at the first chance she could.  
Running, she realized, was a dangerous option, but one she had to be prepared for just in case.

A voice calling from farther down the beach caught her ear; without turning her head to alert the man behind her (who still had that fucking pistol jammed against her crown), she forced her eyes into the far corners of their sockets to try and catch a glimpse.

"The fuck is the daughter?" She heard the yell, covered with a thick accent that made her spine stiffen. She saw the blurry figure of who had shouted it go over to another girl (Miranda, Lindsay realized, the awkward girl who drank way too much rum for her own good and was constantly vomiting on anything in a ten-foot radius. She had been married to one of Lindsey's father's men for a few months and had often snuck on the boat so they could... eugh.) And she realized this was her one chance to form a five-minute plan on how to solve this situation herself.

I'm the daughter, she thought, obviously. Don't know why they need me, but that's not important right now. So if I bolt for it…they're going to follow me, right? If they really do need me. And that'll give a chance for the others to make a clean getaway.

Gambit, her mother's voice whispered to her.

Lindsay almost shook her head to rid the voice entirely.

The sacrifice play was stupid, but it was the only thing she had going for her. Taking a deep breath, she began coughing violently, letting herself bend over and put her face near the sand.

"What's wrong with you?" the man behind her asked, pulling her shoulder roughly; Lindsay coughed harder, mouthing words but nothing coming out. She felt the press of the gun lessen just slightly on the back of her head and-

DUCK

STRATEGIC ELBOW TO GROIN

_Time for a soprano solo, motherfuckers! _she thought.

He screamed, a glorious, high-pitched, attracting-all-attention-to-her scream. Shit.

She took one look behind as she began running at full speed towards the trees, and watched as a pair of knowing eyes (attached to a face attached to the man whose voice had called for her) met her own. The man smiled.

And then she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2: Cálmate

_I believe passing out whilst being captured is an insult to feminism, fucktard_

said the voice in Lindsay's head as her eyes finally cracked open, her head swimming with a kind of tired, drunken fog. She could tell, just in those few seconds of awareness, that she must be somewhere indoors; the stuffy was forcing itself down her throat and into her lungs, leaving an uncomfortable damp feeling in her chest that made her want to wheeze.

Groaning, she forced herself up on her elbows, and-

Immediately ducked back down again, because there was a very scary looking person in the room with her.

…

_Maybe if I don't move, he'll go away, _she thought_. Maybe he'll decide he has better things to do. People to go, places to see, other innocent teenagers to murder._

Peering up out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man still standing near the door, looking every bit the stereotypical static guard as he leaned tersely against the entrance. His hair was in some type of braided ponytail collected near the back of his neck, and his face below his eyes wasn't visible, covered by a bright red handkerchief with a diamond stitched near the side.

All these physical attributes were secondary, however, to the fact the man was clutching a big, big, big gun in his hands. Assault rifle big. Enough to pump an elephant full of lead big.

Enough to keep Lindsay from looking in his direction again big.

She was no stranger to guns, not by far; but the men she spent time with were much more partial to tiny little handguns that they shoved in their pants, only removing them to show off for the girls from time to rare time. Lindsay always found such 'whose is bigger?' contests amusing, because in the end, it was the guy who probably had the smallest dick (at least she'd hazard a guess) that seemed to have the biggest piece.

But this…this was different. Handguns for self defense, she got. Hunting rifles, all the better. Assault weapons, things made specifically for making lots of living things dead very quickly, were a whole other ball game. One that Lindsay had no intention of playing at all.

Before she could voice her opinions on anti-murder to this fine gentlemen, he took notice of her awakening and got in first.

"You…got some pretty nasty shit on your head, muñequita." His voice was young yet scratchy, gargled with cigarettes and sand, accented in some way… but held some kind of genuine concern, Lindsay noted. "I can get someone to check that out, if you feel like you're gonna keel from it."

Confused, she experimentally touched the side of her OW, yes, there was obviously some shit done there. She pulled back her fingers; blood stuck to them like paint. She wiped them quickly on her shorts, hoping that would do the trick.

"I'll be fine, for now, at least…" she responded. She had no intention of asking him to help her, but something about the way he talked made her feel like he wasn't there to hurt her, either. Well, it seemed like he had no intention of shooting her in the face, and that was what really mattered. "I suppose you can't tell me where I am, why I'm here, who you might be?"

The man barked, laughing and coughing at the same time, and she frowned.

"Things around here aren't that easy," he answered, and his eyes gave away his smile underneath the handkerchief. "Not my job to tell you shit, and my name is my solo business, if you understand."

Redface. That was his name until further notice. Well, she supposed she couldn't be pissed at him for doing his job or anything. She was in the family business of drug transport after all, and she knew what it was like to have a shitty day at work. Case in point, now.

"I like your bandana," she said simply, crossing her legs Indian style, ignoring the splinters poking at her thighs. He gave her a look that read 'are you a smartass or something?'. She gave him a look that said 'quite obviously.' And then they sat in silence for a while.

The door was smashed open, and a screaming girl was thrown in.

_Shit_, Lindsay thought. _Miranda_.

It's not that Lindsay doesn't like okay wait, not gonna lie, she does dislike Miranda quite a bit, but that's not what's bugging her now. It's that Miranda is your typical girl who screams and faints at the first sign of a papercut, which, in the current situation, would not be helping anybody, because there are gunshots going off everywhere that take a strong stomach to think through. Lindsay doesn't want to be dealing with anyone less level-headed than herself, and Miranda is definitely not the person she needs right now.

But it doesn't seem like she had a choice; right off the bat, the girl came rushing over, sobbing, hyperventilating, choking out words that sound garbled and meaningless. Lindsay allowed herself to be pulled tightly into her arms as she's hugged, _ew, she's bloody and muddy too, get off, please, okay thanks_, she thinks as the hysteric one finally pulled away.

"They shot…they shot…" Miranda choked out, then let out another loud wail; Lindsay's eyes darted over to Redface, who gave her a warning 'shut the bitch up' motion with his free hand.

"It's okay, Miranda, it's okay," Lindsay tried, grabbing the girls wrists; Miranda resisted, tugged away, continued screaming, "He shot him! HE SHOT HIM! HE SHOT-!" She dissolved into tears.

Lindsay was getting frustrated. She heard voices coming closer from outside, she knew that the screams were not contained. If she were a pirate (and she stresses that this is purely hypothetical) she would be pissed if some bitch kept yelping after you've obviously spared her life.

"Listen, Miranda, you have to shut up now," Lindsay hissed, strengthening her hold on Miranda's wrists and trying to pull her down to the floor. The girl allowed herself to be sat, but once her butt touches the ground, her sobs began to get louder.

Lindsay leaned in to try agai-

"WILL SOMEONE PLEASE SHUT HER UP ALREADY?" a voice boomed from the door as it's kicked open with a bang.

Lindsay whipped around. "I'M TRYING!" she yelled back exasperatedly.

The scene froze.

A man was standing in the doorway, watching her with an expression of sudden entertainment. He also was holding a big, big, big gun, but for the first time, her eyes were drawn away from the weapon and onto the man himself, raking over his every feature with curiosity. He looked…different, somehow. It's not just one thing; it's not his clothes (dirty red tank top and water-soaked cargo pants, tucked haphazardly into combat boots that glisten black), it's not his hair (shaved into a rough Mohawk, standing up with the power of hair products that rival the amount in her own bathroom), it's not his body (okay, well it might be, his toned muscles, his stance that suggests he's coiled up inside ready to strike out), and it… it could have been his eyes.

She felt like a steak dinner. Being eyed by a hyena. This should have bothered her a lot more than it did.

Wordlessly, he motioned to Miranda with his gun, then jerked it towards the door; Redface nodded, then grabbed her by the arm and tugged her out behind him. For a split second, he turned to her, and they were alone.

"I, uh, hate to cut the slumber party short, but business to take care of and all that…" he trailed off, smiling. "Rain check?"

Lindsay watched him turn away before she answered. This bothered her; did he expect her to not say anything back? Clearly this was a man far too used to his women shutting up and letting him have his go. But not Lins, the Queen of All Snark. She thought for a second.

Just as he finished stepping out the door and had taken off running across the grass, she shouted at the top of her lungs: "Call me!"

Immediately, he stopped. Turned, looked over his shoulder, and laughed. Saluted and waved. Turned back, kept running.

Lindsay waved back even though she knew he couldn't see.

* * *

AN: Hey everyone! Love to everyone who's following/favorited/reviewed! You lovelies have definitely inspired me to keep writing, and I hope you enjoy this chapter and the rest of the story! Luv, Kat.


	3. Chapter 3: Curiosity Killed

AN: 8D Zosh my literal goshes, guys! I'm so happy to have people enjoying this story as much as I'm loving writing it. It's great to see the Far Cry 3 fandom getting its roots! Well, I hope you like the chapter. Peace out, homes, and all that jazz.

* * *

Curiosity Killed

_Okay. New idea. Ask to go to the bathroom. Then, when the guard turns his back, er, elbow to the groin? Maybe not, he'd be facing away. But something like that. Then grab his gun, and start running. Yeah. That's it. That's a great idea. Definitely works, right? Time tested and true. Great, great great fucking idea._

Only it wasn't a great idea at all, Lindsay realized, groaning as she flopped over on the hard wooden floor. It had been hours, maybe even a full day, locked in this fucking crock pot of a room, and the only sign of life had been Redface a few hours ago when he brought her a bottle of water and some beef jerky. While she appreciated the gesture, her hunger was barely sated, her mood was pissy, and her patience was growing short.

She didn't want to risk her life doing something stupid (although, in her mind, she had a gut feeling that she could get away with some shit, because they clearly didn't want to kill her else they'd have done it already). The constant sound of screaming in the distance remained throughout the night, sometimes quickly silenced, but always picked up a few minutes later by another voice. It was a constant warning: She wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Returning to her spot by the door, she peeked through the crack between it and the wall. Saw the familiar silhouette of a guard blocking most of her view. He was talking to another man beside him about bear sightings near some cave, and Lindsay didn't give a shit. She did pay attention to the voices approaching the-

CRACK.

Her vision went black.

* * *

"And tell me how the fuck this happened?"

"She must have been listening at the door. When we opened it she got hit."

"That's why you fuckin knock, you impolite pieces of shit."

"Lo siento, jefe."

A pair of footsteps faded away. The voice that remained muttered to itself.

"Fuck. Got her right where she was hit before."

Lindsay kept her eyes closed, even when she felt a hand grasping her chin, gently turning her head sideways. She knew who the voice belonged to; like all girls her age did when harboring a crush, she had let this random pirate henchman dance around her mind all night, culminating with a half-asleep-half-awake dream of a complete reenactment of the laying on the street scene from the Notebook (Lindsay would like to note here that she has no control over what her subconscious does, thank you, so please stop your needless ridicule and move on with your life).

So it was no surprise that she could not stop her body from tensing as she felt his breath on the side of her face, doubtless that he was merely looking at the growing-rather-nasty bump on her head. Half of her preened, half of her gagged because she probably looked fucking gross. But then again, that wasn't her fault. And he didn't seem to mind.

She opened her eyes slowly, anticipating his meeting hers and the moment freezing just like

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. She practically shut them instantly.

He was covered in blood. Not just 'bloody', like a survivor in a Hollywood zombie film would look, but with his whole neck and chest and face just caked with red. Lindsay didn't mind blood, no, but she did worry that whatever was on his wife beater were the remains of someone she knew. Though there wasn't anyone she really cared about aside from Tim (her mind panged at the thought of him dead, but she kept confident that he had to be one of the few who got away).

She did open her eyes again, and this time, his were watching hers; his expression was one of concern, his mouth set in a line and his cheek sucked in in concentration. He reached up to her hair and pushed it off the side that was throbbing; cool fingers brushed over a cut (fuck ow) and she winced.

"I would like to apologize," he began, "for the men in my camp. They do not listen when I say these ladies need special care, especially one as, ah..." He laughed, jabbing her forehead. "Pretty, and delicate as you."

His smile was warm, genuine. Lindsay was very confused. She couldn't tell if he was one hell of an actor or just legitimately insane. But if he meant what he said, well, then, she could at least smile back. At least he had been far more polite than his coworkers.

He continued: "That's gonna get worse if we don't get you cleaned up. And we don't want any scars on the princesita, eh?"

Princess, probably, she translated in her head, that one was more than obvious. Figuring that was an invitation for her to talk back, she took a deep breath, grew a pair, and spoke.

"I've wanted to ask someone, what does… 'muñequita' mean?" she asked as he continued to press on the gash with his hands. He looked at her questioningly as she spoke, but did not pause, instead grabbing the bottle of water near her and cracking it open. "The guy they usually send in here always calls me it. I can't figure out what it means. Mi muñequita de la Estadas, something like that. He could be calling me a bitch for all I know."

He barked, laughing, his smile a thousand watts and then some, before shaking his head. "It means 'little doll from the states'," he answered, "Muñequita de los Estados. He calls you that outside, too. I like it. Makes you seem cuter than you are."

"Hey!" she responded, but she saw a glint of a joke in his eyes, and receded. He was playing with her. A bloody pirate was… wait, was he flirting? Does that count as flirting?

_I hope it counts_, her subconscious mumbled. Lindsay's moral compass told it to please stop.

He braced her head against one of his hands, the bottle tilting in the other. "Hold still," he directed before pouring it down across (ow) the (ow) wound (ow fuckin hell shit fuck); she felt it trickling down the back of her hair, which tickled like a bitch but was left unscratched due to her fear of moving after being explicitly told to hold the fuck still. She gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and kept quiet.

After a few more seconds, the bottle was completely emptied onto her head; she felt the swollen bump become slightly less sore, if only just a little.

"I can see it clearer now, and it's not bad at all," he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze, "You'll live to see another day here." And he stood up and began moving for the door without another word, which, yet again, irked her beyond all belief.

"Wait, wait!" Lindsay scrambled to get up, but stopped when she saw a look of confusion on his face. "What?"

"Of all the people I've held in here, princesa, you're the first to ask me to stick around." His eyebrows wiggled, and she resisted the urge to giggle, or blush. Somewhere she heard both her logical and moral sides committing violent suicide off the edge of a cliff.

"No, no. I'm just asking where 'here' is. I mean, where I am. Where am I?" Shit that was some obvious nervous babbling. She hoped he would ignore it and just answer without giving her any patronizing look- okay he was giving her a patronizing look.

"You mean you got no clue where you are?"

She shrugged. "Well, I know I'm probably still on Rook Island."

"Si, that you are. You have just successfully answered your own question."

…fuck.

He shrugged, completely mocking her own movement a second before, picked up his gun off the floor, and continued his walk towards the door. "Sorry I can't sit down with you and have a lil heart to heart right now. We'll catch up tomorrow, ja? All your questions answered, that kind of shit."

He turned away. She saw the pistol clutched _so_ loosely in his hand, and her logical side flashed. _He's not paying attention_.

She was letting her chance of escape walk through the door like a fucking moron.

_What can I do oh god he has a gun but he's not expecting it…I probably could make a grab for it oh god but I'll have to do it now_-

Before she knew it she was moving of her own accord. Lunging, she jumped wildly towards the gun in his hand, hoping to at least knock it onto the floor so she could pick it up and move from there. But before she could even breach the distance between them she felt his entire body whip around, bringing his hand swiftly upward and-

_CRACK_. The gun hit the bottom of her jaw, clamping it, biting her own tongue; she quickly swallowed down the well of blood that pooled in the corner of her mouth. She had the fleeting thought of _dear god_ _my head's gonna look like a fucking mess by the time I get out of here_ before she was jerked roughly out of her thoughts by his hand grabbing the back of her neck.

She looked him in the eyes. She was expecting anger, and she saw it brewing, hiding just underneath his calm expression and his clenched jaw. He opened his mouth; she tensed up, expecting a yell, but instead, he merely sighed. "Damn. I was just getting to like you."

He balled his fist into her hair and pulled her out the door.

* * *

_I'm dead, I'm dead, shit fuck I'm dead._

This was the third time Lindsay had said this to herself in the past few days. And while she knew where to press her luck, third time was not the charm.

_This is it. I fucked it up. I'm going to die here. _

He was dragging her across a camp filled with men wearing red; many of them stopped what they were doing and stared in her direction, some laughing, some with looks of pity and dread. She made eye contact with a few of them, she almost screamed out to Redface when she saw him walking by, but he nor any of the others did anything but stare. She tried to pick out places, surroundings, things to remember, but every time she would look at something for longer than a second, he jerked her around the other way. All she knew was that she was surrounded by men, guns, and trees.

_Shit. He must be taking me to whoever runs this business. And judging by the horrified reaction of these bloodthirsty, battle-worn pirates, that really can't be good._

They stopped outside of a large open hut, elevated off the ground by a few feet with stairs leading up to it. Inside it, she saw her fears realized.

The first thing her eyes shot to was the cage. A huge one, made with bamboo, crammed haphazardly next to the structure and filled with… seven, she counted, seven men. One wasn't moving. All of them looked like they had been beaten with tire irons. Craning her neck, she saw countless more of them, stacked alongside the building, though she couldn't tell if they were all full.

Next, there were the people standing up, wrists tied from rope and chains hanging from the ceiling, some motionless, some writhing as they tried to loosen their bonds. Near them, pirates nonchalantly walked by; she saw one kick the feet out from under a struggling man and laughed as he jerked downwards, his arms straining as they held him up.

There was the smell of death reeking from everyone there. The bamboo floor was stained red. Several of the bodies inside were motionless, hanging limp from the wrists, gunshot wounds peppered across their skin and clothes and faces…

He threw her onto the stairs leading up to the pavilion, pointing his gun at her. "Go up there. Tell me if you like what you see."

Scrambling, Lindsay moved up the stairs as fast as she could, whipping around to face the people bound inside. All of them, she saw, were her father's men, people she scarcely knew but still recognized. As she walked up to them, the one nearest to her (James, she thinks his name was, or John) immediately started yelling, and the others all looked up at her, too. She searched their faces for a moment, then realized, Oh my god, where is Tim, _where is Tim_.

_He escaped. He had to. He's not…he's fucking not…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the man, who had walked up behind her and wrapped his arm around her neck. Slouching, resting his head on her shoulder, he said: "Pretty nice, eh? Built this all ourselves. There were so fucking many of you we had to steal some rope from your boat to fit everyone."

_Miranda's not here, what the fuck... Jeff isn't…oh wait, there he is, he's towards the back…_

"You see, this is what happens to people we sell. People that are nothing but living, breathing price tags. Now, that is not you right now, but," he pressed harder into her back, arm tightening around her collarbone, "You could be."

He gestured to the men in front of her. "Do you want to be one of them, hm? Just say the word, and you'll be with your crew getting fucked in the ass by whatever fucker I send you to. Do you want that, princesa? _Do you_?"

There was the anger. It was pouring out of him, he was yelling in her ear now, and Lindsay became legitimately terrified beyond all rational thought.

_I am a teenage girl. I am supposed to be home, sitting with Stace, painting my nails, watching TV, listening to music, using my computer, and not this, not this. I am not supposed to be here. But I'm here and I'm stuck here for good and I'm going to die here, too, at the hands of this psychopath who- wait. _

Whoever 'I' send you to? Wait, he chooses who comes and goes?

_He's_ the boss around here?

Her escape was hugging her to his chest, pointing a gun at her temple. Her biggest chance to make it out of here alive was also her biggest chance of being shot through the forehead. Rationality rushed into her with this discovery; she had to play this smart, use her brain, and maybe, she'll come out of this unscratched. Because he was just a man. As long as she played along and _did not let him get to her_, she'd be fine.

She noticed he had gone quiet. Heard his breathing in her ear. He whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear: "So you gonna behave, Lindsay? Hm?"

She nodded stiffly, avoiding the burn she felt from eyes that she knew were boring into her. "Yes." The word was devoid of all her trademark snark, of all defiance, of any previous emotion Lindsay had ever shown earlier. It was just simply yes, a compliance, and a promise.

And then she _heard_ him smile; the quick exhalation, the shift of him lightening his grip across her chest, a small hint of a stifled laugh. "_Good girl_," he murmured in her ear.

Lindsay tensed. She didn't like the way he said that at all. It sounded too…playful.

Her suspicions were confirmed as he grabbed her head, pressed a hard kiss on her temple, and shoved her backwards down the stairs, where she stumbled and collapsed into the arms of another pirate, who began hauling her away.

…_THE FUCK-_

As the distance between them grew quickly, she saw him give her a familiar little wave; this time, she did not wave back. Instead, she just stared.

_What are you?_

_What the literal _fuck_ are you?_


	4. Chapter 4: Was Not Afraid

Author's note: Thank you from the bottom of my heart, everyone who is reading this. It brings me joy to bring Lindsay back for another chapter, and I hope you all love reading Vaas's antics as much as I do. Mwah, writer kisses! ~Katie.

* * *

"_Thus Wendy first laid eyes on the dark figure who haunted her stories. She saw the piercing eyes, and was not afraid, but entranced." _

_Wendy upon seeing Captain Hook, __Peter Pan (2003)_

* * *

The last thing Lindsay expected was for the man to keep his promise. Promises and pirates did not seem to coincide very well on this island.

Yet, _insert Zelda tune here, da-da-da-daaa!_, here he was, standing in the doorway looking like he had fought to hell and back, battle worn and blazing. That solid of a layer of dirt and blood on any human being would generally make anyone (especially Lindsay, who believed that showering with a loofah was a daily necessity) flinch in disgust; however, the look on his face said that there were more important things to be worried about than personal hygiene, so she sucked it up and kept her eyes trained on him as he came into the room.

She knew she should've been caught off guard by his jackal-esque smile and his unwavering stare, both of which contradicted one another, but at this point, she (falsely) believed that there was little to nothing he could do to surprise her anymore. So when he sat down in front of her, legs crossed Indian-style, and looked at her pointedly as if he expected her to start talking, she just did.

"So…" _Awkward._ "What's your name?" she asked, not bothering with ceremony. He had said this was so she could ask questions, and he'd be damned if he went back on that one. She figured she'd start out with the basics and work her way up from there.

"Vaas Montenegro," He answered her, sounding like a young boy in class, over-annunciating each syllable as he reached down into his pocket and pulled out a small knife. Lindsay visibly tensed, but decided to keep going.

"I know I'm on Rook, but where on Rook? Any specific place?"

"In my camp." He was now dragging the knife back and forth across the flooring, scratch, scrape, she saw the lines carving into it, making a lopsided signature. "Also, if you don't stop boring the shit out of me, I'm going to find something much more entertaining to do than answering your stupid questions."

_Gah_. "Er, why am I here?"

He paused, his expression changing from bored as hell to interested in a manner of seconds. "Ah. Now there, there's a damn good one."

Nonchalantly, he flicked his wrist and sent the knife whistling through the air; she jolted, her breath hitched. It hit the wall a hairs length from her head with a resounding _chnk_ , wobbling before growing still, embedded about an inch or so into the wood. She let go of the air trapped in her chest with a sigh of relief when she realized she wasn't getting stabbed today (yet, knock on wood).

She waited for him to answer the question. He didn't. He just sat there, staring at her with the same expectancy as he had before. She coughed uncomfortably and waited for a response, but it never came. What, was he expecting praise for the nice knife throw or something? Well fuckery, he could have some, hidden under four layers of pure sarcasm and terror.

"You know, you're a pretty scary guy, Vaas Montenegro." Lindsay essentially forced herself to laugh (a horrible awkward-teenager-at-the-mall kind of laugh that made her cringe with its carefree sound) and make her eyes meet his. _Imagine he didn't kill anyone, Lins. Imagine you just met him here, you have no idea who he is or what he does. Imagine he's just a man with a fake gun and a butter knife and a really sweet personality underneath all that shit. Act your fucking guts out. I mean, that's what-_

* * *

"_-you gotta do, if something horrible ever happens. Just act like the Dickens and you'll get out fine. If someone ever tries to hurt you, remember: if they like you, there's a much bigger chance they _won't_ hurt you."_

"_Really?" Wide-eyed, nine-years-old Lindsay was asking her, impressed with the very idea of lying like that. School taught her that lying was bad, but obviously, it could be used for good, too. Her own good. "Could I really be like that? As good of an actress as you, momma?"_

_Her mother laughed. "Of course. You got my genes, right? You'll learn to do it just fine. Just smile that cute little smile of yours, and you'll be okay."_

* * *

"Tell me something, Lindsay, my princess. What would you kill for right now?"

His voice rang through her thoughts. She snapped back and repeated the question in her head.

She knew she should've thought out her response a little more carefully. But her mother's words, _act, act_, were still ringing through her head, clearer than day. So she turned to him, her smile wide and deliberate, and jokingly said:

"A shower."

* * *

"I was not being serious, Mr. Montenegro."

"I know. That's why this is so fucking hilarious."

Lindsay felt something being pressed into her hand; she couldn't see through the blindfold he had slipped on her, but she knew the feel of a gun and immediately recoiled. He pushed it harder, forced her fingers around it, held her arms out straight and tensed. She heard gasping near her, like someone who had been sobbing for a long time, and forced herself to ignore it.

She continued trying albeit her panic rising. "Please. I can't see. I don't want anyone getting hurt, not even you, V-,"

And just like that, the blindfold was ripped off her head. Perfect timing, this fucking pirate. She blinked, dizzy in the sudden sunlight; they were standing near the north end of the camp (or so she guesstimated), right by the dense treeline. She scanned around her quickly for any chance of escape (of course, there were none; pirates crawling out the wazoo left and right) before refocusing her eyes on what was in front of her. Or, more specifically, who.

It was a man, skinny and tanned, about forty years of age, and wearing the stereotypical mud-stained Hawaiian-print shirt and khakhis that made her cringe with how bloody they were. His hair was a light sandy brown with a few grays poking through, grown out so it hung messily around his ears, and his eyes were brownish , too, though puffy and swollen; he must've been the one crying. She knew he looked vaguely familiar, though there was no name jumping to her head. Probably one of the many dragged off her father's ship, no doubt, another random soul to meet his end on this hellhole of an island.

What Lindsay didn't get was why the man's face changed from pathetic to absolutely horrified when he looked up and saw _her_.

"Something on her face, hermano?" Vaas asked, pulling the gun out of her hands just as quickly as he had placed it in them. Sauntering over to the knelt man, he nudged his head with the barrel and said "Well, start explaining. She doesn't have all day. Actually," he cocked it and put it to the captive's head, "neither do you."

The man sputtered for a moment, then grew silent, shaking his head. Lindsay knew that look; she had seen it in every good slasher film from the nineties. It was being frightened beyond the point of words. Next to him, much less empathetic, Vaas rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Talk, or I will shoot you like the fucking animal you are," he said harshly, poking the gun barrel repeatedly into the man's cheek, almost comically. Crouching down, the pirate spoke right into the man's ear; Lindsay had to stress her hearing to catch what he was saying. "What kind of man does that, anyway, hm? Takes such a young little chica, so _pretty_, so _helpless_, onto an island filled with fucking pirates who probably wanna fuck her or kill her. Or both." His eyes glanced over to hers; _but mainly the first one_, they said. Fuck all, she was blushing. "Just to use her as collateral for his own bullshit mistake? That's not fair, hermano. That's just not fair."

"Wait," Lindsay said quietly, not quite understanding. "Collateral? The fuck does that mean?"

Vaas laughed. "You're adorable when you swear." He nudged the man again, harder. "Go on. Tell the princesa the definition of collateral, please."

The man took a shaky breath and, shrinking away from the pistol, finally managed to choke out: "I'm so sorry, Lindsay, you've got to understand. Th-this wasn't our idea at all. Just please, please don't let him kill m-!"

"Shut the fuck up," Vaas barked in warning, finger hovering on the trigger, squeezing the air in front of it. The man balked, jerked away, but Vaas held him roughly in place. "Do not _beg_ for her forgiveness, cocksucker, you do not deserve it. Now keep going."

Quaking, the man continued, his head trained on the ground and avoiding her gaze. "I…I'm Leonard. Leo, remember? The captain of the ship, the Angelica, when we, your dad's..." Oh, so _that_ was where he was from. He was the fucking captain of the ship she was yanked off a few days back. She had never caught sight of him on that particular cruise, seeing as probably he spent most of it shut below deck (where Lindsay hated, because it smelled like wet dog and/or wet drugs, which were both just as bad on their own and even worse together), but she had seen him talking with her father many times before on the few trips she had tagged along on.

Suspicious, but calm, she listened as he went on: "He… he was supposed to send more (here he said a word in Thai that Lindsay couldn't make out, but she's banking that it stood for either heroin or cocaine), a lot more with his last shipment here. But he couldn't get the extra in on time, and he still took the money for the full deal. When these people found out and called him again, they said they were going to…" He shuddered, attempting to leave the rest to imagination. But his captor wasn't having it.

"Come up to his little Thailand operation and put lead in his family, his crew, everyone." Moving the gun up to his own head, Vaas pretended shoot himself in the temple. "Bang, boom, done. Bloody fucking mess. That is, unless we got something to tide us over till we got our end of the deal."

"So… Wait, what you're saying is…" Lindsay's eyes suddenly flashed with understanding. No. That couldn't be it, though. She knew about what happened here on this island, she's heard from all the men about how they sell _people_, and her father was always a desperate _whining piece of fucking shit but there was no way he could have sent her here knowin-_

_He totally did._

"…He sent _me_ here to pay it off?"

She expected him to deny it fervently. But, with the expression of a man accepting his fate, the captain nodded. "We were told to send girls. They never told us why, but we knew what kind of business they do here on Rook. We figured that once the money was paid they would give you and Miranda back. That's what they told us, Lindsay, that's what they promised."

But Lindsay had already stopped listening. Instead she was seeing red.

Collateral. Definition: pledging property to a lender in order to secure repayment of a debt. Property. Fucking _property_. She was not property, no, she was _no one's_ to buy and sell, not even her goddamn douchebag of a father.

Hell, this wasn't even her fucking job! And he had the balls to send her out here without telling her he was more or less selling her body to some psychotic _fucks_. 'Never told us why' her ass, by the way; what else were a group of violent slave trafficking men gonna to do with a girl in a place like this? That was not fair. That was_ not fair_. Not to her, not fair to the crew, and again, not fair to _her_, which was the most important part_. _

Family comes first her ass, too.

_I mean, what kind of father does that? _Lindsay's jaw clenched, staring at the man and suddenly seeing her dad in his place, kneeling before her, begging for forgiveness. Looking fucking _pathetic_ as always. _What kind of spine do you have to lose to think sending your daughter into Hell was fucking worth it? This is really the lowest of the low, and I've had nineteen years to see a lot of shit. I mean, if mom had been here…_

Lindsay shook that thought off. That was stupid. Mom wasn't there. Mom _isn't_ here. Still, she squeezed on the trigger that was no longer in her hand tightly. She was so, so very angry.

"See, now, _that_ was a promise I was gonna break the second your ship hit the island," Vaas cut into her thoughts again, as he was apt to do, walking back over to her with a concerned expression, "Until we decided that the price of your papa's business was more than just two fucking girls. So we're gonna be keeping you all s_aaa_fe and sound until he gets back to us with that cash. And we all live happily ever after."

He resumed his place behind her, wrapped her fingers around the gun once more, and pointed it straight at the captain's forehead. "So here's your chance, princesita. You can put a bullet in the guy who aimed the gun at you in the first place, free of charge."

Without hesitation, her hand clenched around the metal without his help. But she didn't pull the trigger. She wanted to, so badly, but couldn't. Not until she gave herself a proper excuse.

"This man…" she asked without looking at the man who no doubt felt the shift in her arm as she gripped the gun on her own, "Is he going to die here anyway? I mean, is he important to my father's business?"

Vaas inhaled slowly, and then answered. "Absolutely not. This fucker's gonna bleed anyw-"

She felt each muscle individually contract as her finger pulled the trigger. She felt the bang; her arms would've buckled on their own had she not steeled herself against the force a moment before. She expected a huge spray of blood to pop out from the back of his head; instead, there was only a fine mist of red and a few chunks of bluish… eugh that seeped out and settled onto the grass behind him. Not wanting to look at the gore for a second more, she closed her eyes, tight. Took a deep breath. Tried to dissociate.

But she couldn't block out the man beside her.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" she heard Vaas mumble in her ear, letting the gun slip back into his grip as her hands shook.

She nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

It was the most convincing lie she had told yet, mainly because it wasn't really a lie at all. She knew it. And, from the way he pulled away, unquestioning, so did he.

* * *

Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" stuck firmly in her head the entire walk back. And no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many songs she conjured up to block it out, it simply wouldn't fucking unstick. The entire situation seemed bizarrely casual, the happy tune plucking its way through her brain, she just shot a man, and nothing made sense anymore.

Because it wasn't guilt she felt. It wasn't horror from seeing someone's insides hit the jungle floor.

It was just how fucking _easy_ that was. And how good that bang felt in her elbows. How genuinely nice it was to see that split second shock on the face of a man who had screwed her ass over. Almost the same expression as a dying buck, she thought.

Lindsay remembered how great she felt the first time she took down her first hunting kill, out in the woods with her father back when they lived in the states. A feeling of vengeance, she recalled, for her mother's near death in that stupid car accident which seemed like forever ago.

This felt no different. The deer would've died anyway. _Mercy killing_, she thought. _It was just a mercy killing_.

She heard Vaas laugh for the hundredth time this afternoon as he strolled leisurely beside her; she was wondering if she was really that fucking funny, or if he was just really easily amused. He was studying her expression closely, and for a moment, she swore he could read her mind, because the look he gave back simply said, _no, no it wasn't, you sick, twisted little cosita!_

As he walked her into the familiar cabin that had been her home for the past few days, he pulled her close and gave her the gentlest kiss Lindsay ever thought possible from a man like him on her forehead, just above her right eyebrow. She leaned into it, only a little, and didn't flinch when he wiped away the single tear that had escaped from her eye with his thumb. "Good job, princesa," he whispered softly, fingers smoothing down her hair. "Good job."

As he left, he stopped in the doorway, glanced over his shoulder, and added: "I'll get you that shower by tomorrow, ja?"

She waited until he was shutting and locking the door behind him to sink back down to the splintery floor, motionless, exhausted, thoughtful, and oh so satisfied.

Today was the first real day of Lindsay's two-week vacation on Rook Island. And boy, was she already having fun.


	5. Chapter 5: Tick Tock

Author's Note: I love you. I love you all. _ I am so sorry for this taking as long as it did; it's exam week, everything's gone to shit, but hell, Lindsay will have her hour! Huzzah! Thank you a thousand times for all the support; if I could, I would send you all walruses made of chocolate for how amazing you guys are. Mwah.

Here we gooooo! ~Kat

* * *

_"Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again."_

Peter Pan, _J. Barry._

* * *

Lindsay bets you thought this chapter was going to be a horrendously extended Peter Pan metaphor. She guesses that you are wondering right now in your lovely little reader brains_, so if Vaas is Captain Hook, and she is probably Wendy, then who could possibly be the crocodile? Is it Jason? Is it her father? Is it Dennis the Menace (ha-ha, bad name puns)? Is it-_

Here, Lindsay would cut into your ridiculous self-monologue and answer you simply. An actual fucking crocodile.

And this was no extended metaphor bullshit.

It had all started out quite innocently enough (well, about as innocent as you could get on Rook Island, she admits). Two men had knocked noisily on the cabin door sometime in the morning of the next day and marched her outside, where a battle-worn burgundy jeep was puttering patiently, its engine croaking steam in the early sun. Collectively, Lindsay noticed that they both seemed genuinely annoyed with the fact that they had to take time out of their busy schedule of murder and theft to deal with Vaas's rich bitch hostage, but honestly, right now, she couldn't have cared less; hopping deftly into the passenger's seat, she gestured lazily to the man driving, and without even a polite 'hello', said: "Well, let's not take all fucking day, shall we?"

She was (in the most suicidal way possible) testing her new limits. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man grimace and glance wistfully at the gun of his partner, but, jaw clenched, he turned back to the steering wheel and jammed on the gas pedal with an aggression that caused the passengers to get partial whiplash. Regardless, Lindsay smiled, settled back in her seat, and rested easy on the knowledge that she had seemingly been given temporary immunity. _Who's the princesita? Whoooo's the princesita? Moi. Me. Lindsay fucking Sockacker._

See, immunity is a touchy thing on the Rook Islands. Lindsay thought she had it, but in actuality, there was a high chance she was about to get herself murdered with her current attitude. But this was the furthest thought from her mind; right now, she was concerned only with where she was headed.

"To get a fucking shower, obviou_s_ly," the driver grumbled back when she asked, his accent one that sounded loosely Hispanic but devoid of all the little colloquialisms she had grown used to hearing from the others. He was thinner than most of Vaas's regular crew, with thin black hair that tumbled in waves and olive skin covered in twisting black ink. When he spoke, Lindsay saw his eyeteeth were sharp and pointed, and he slightly slurred his s's when he spoke; he reminded her of a constantly pissed snake, a snake covered in strange markings and hissing obscenities.

The other passenger, a shorter and stouter man that Lindsay had seen strolling around the camp a few times, was becoming much less perturbed as they continued driving, though he never spoke once during the short ride. He was bald, thick, and working his broad hands over the barrel of his gun with the standard red handkerchief, whistling through the gap in his front teeth. She didn't recognize the tune, a quirky, upbeat song that sounded like something from Mary Poppins, and yet again she found herself laughing at the conflict between horror and innocence she was currently surrounded by.

She stared off into the trees, so many trees, a literal fuckton of just trees, their green fingers laced in a net that blocked out the sky. Their leaves, some fronds, some bristles, were dancing in the wind, and Lindsay was reminded of-

_Her arms were the branches, her hands were the leaves, swaying in the wind just like that, and Lindsay was clapping excitedly and yelling, "A tree! You're a tree! I win!"_

_Points were given. The game was over, and Lindsay did win, but she knew it was because her parents gave her bonus points for being cute. _

_Lindsay knew her mother was really the winner. She had to be; she was always the best at charades, Lindsay could tell just by watching. With her graceful movements and how her face could contort into funny and serious and scary, she was just… beautiful. Lindsay would watch as she would get up in front of their indoor fireplace and entertain her for hours, sitting on her father's knee and cheering as her mother became a tree, a rainstorm, a bird._

_She's gone._

…_What?_

_She left this morning. Before I got back from work. Went back home. Took her stuff and asked John to give her a ride to the airport in Bangkok, he's the one that told me._

…_She went back _home_?_

_Lindsay, I-_

_Why didn't she take me, dad?_

_I… I don't know._

_Did she leave a number?_

_No._

…_an address?_

_Lindsay, you can't go back on your own._

_Yes I can._

_No, you're not. You're not going back unless I know exactly where your mother is and where to send you. It's dangerous to travel around this country alone and you know it. You wait until I have specifics and men to look after you. I'm not taking any chances til' then._

_Oh, so you seem to have no trouble letting me go to a fucking coke-_

_You know what I mean, Lindsay. Please, please just wait._

No.

_You don't have a choice! You're staying, that's final, so if you're going to be a little spoiled _princess_ about it, you can go straight up to your room and act li- _

_Dad, I swear to Jesus fucki-_

_Screeeeetch. _

The car stopped abruptly, seatbelt choking against Lindsay's neck, and the two men (who hadn't been wearing theirs, much to her amusement as she imagined them launching through the window) hopped out without a word. Figuring she was meant to follow, she copied them, her bare feet landing with a slap on the muddy jungle floor.

Lindsay can't remember when or how she lost her shoes (somewhere in the scuffle as she ran from the beach, she guessed, but maybe not), but she definitely longed for them now.

"What's the point of a shower when I'm going to have to walk back through this shit?" she complained under her breath, attempting to dodge around the deeper parts of yuck as she followed them through the foliage. The trees were somehow even thicker here, and Lindsay enjoyed the feeling of the cool shade on her shoulders. Maybe she could convince Vaas to let her come here more often, if she could find some nice sandals and a better escort.

The one with the snake-teeth turned back to her with the most deadpan expression of loathing she had ever seen, almost as if he had heard beyond her comment and into her thoughts. He opened his mouth and Lindsay could see the words loaded in the back of his throat, but before he could let them slip out the other man grabbed him roughly by the arm, shook his head, and pulled him back. _She's not worth it, hermano_.

She heard the water before she saw it. The gentle rumble of it hitting rocks, the static noise that permeated the air and felt humid in her lungs. She was drawn to it; climbing over the rocks, she ran past the two men and immediately gasped at the beauty of the scene that unfolded around her. A high waterfall, crystal white, spilling down to a calm pool covered in green lilies. Birds sang, muffled by the trees, which grew vibrant around the stream in its rich soil. Unable to hold herself back from its beauty, Lindsay began running, jumping to dive into the welcoming waters belo-

And then she saw it.

HOLY FUCK

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD

**OH GOD**

In retrospect, Lindsay wishes she could've just jumped backwards coolly, pushing a pair of dark sunglasses back on her nose and whistling, "_Damn_, that was close." This, of course, was the furthest thing from what really happened.

Instead, she fell flat on her ass and started scrambling backwards, arms backpedaling as she propelled herself through the grass like a hermit crab on crack. She only stopped when she bumped up against the feet of the two men, who were staring down at her with "what the fuck" expressions that were almost as hilarious as her panic.

"The fuck i_s_ wrong with y-?"

Lindsay cut him off with incoherent babbling.

"There's a there's fa there's athere's a…" Her words choked up, unable to form proper sounds, terror blinking in and out of her eyes and holy shit holy shit holy _shit_.

"There's a what?" the shorter man asked, his voice showing calm and concern as he craned up to see what was in the water. "Ah. I see it. Calm down, chica, it's just a croc."

…

"Just a croc?" Lindsay breathed. "_Jus-ss-t a croc?_" There was no thing as 'just a crocodile', not in Lindsay's book. I fact, if you looked up the definition of "crocodile" in her book, there would be a big red circle with the letters NO stamped across it, not _'just a fucking crocodile'!_

But there it was, lazily basking in the sun, all muddy and lethargic yet still somehow fucking _two tons of lethal reptilian weapondry_. Lindsay was struck speechless just by the _size_ of it; she had seen a few alligators back at the L.A. Zoo, but they all seemed like puppies in comparison to this bigass motherfucker. Its jaws looked large enough to fit at least half of her inside them, maybe all if she curled up in a ball. Munch, crunch, thanks a bunch. Nope. No way.

"Ready to take a nice _s_wim, eh, _s_enorita?" the snake one laughed, breaking through her fear by grabbing her arm and shoving her towards the bank. Shaking her head like a bobblehead, she jerked back against his grip, stuttering "No, no, no, no…"

The shorter man walked up, nudged the other out of the way, and took her by the shoulders, angling her to face the monster sitting on the bank.

"Look," he said, his voice all calm and even, "It's not moving. It's just basking. If you don't bother it, give it some space, it'll keep right where it is. And if we see it move, we'll shoot it. Okay?" He patted her on the shoulder and smiled, a genuine sort of smile like a school counselor might give a troubled student, and Lindsay realized that he was right. "Plus, you really don't have a choice. Vaas said that he wanted you cleaned up, so you'll have to do it anyway. It's better than us tossing you in, ja?"

…Fuuuuuck.

Tentative steps towards the bank. Slow, slower, slowest. Lindsay moved in a perfect arc around the motionless creature, and with every tap of her feet on the wet mud she cussed even louder inside. Her eyes stayed locked onto it even as she felt the water lap at her ankles and knew she was far enough away.

She sat down in the shallow pool, where the water was only tall enough to graze her stomach, and let out a long sigh of relief. She had dodged the bullet. Or, er, reptile. Heh.

Pushing herself to relax, Lindsay clawed at the dirt beneath her; unlike the mud that lined the shore, it was grittier, rougher, like sand. She figured it would be the closest thing to a body scrub she will ever use again, so she began liberally spreading it across her legs, the grains scraping off the caked filth that stuck to her like a second skin. The feeling was euphoric; when she lifted her legs from the water, now clean except for a few flecks, she gasped at the sensation of air hitting her bare skin for the first time in days.

She did the same to her arms, then her stomach, wincing as the dirt stained her shirt (her _only_ shirt, come on, seriously, this is the one thing she has to make an impression in) but continuing to scrub herself off anyway. She wiped away the blood pooled at her collarbone and up her neck, and then finished by swiftly dunking her whole head underwater. The cut on her head throbbed furiously; she forced herself to ignore it.

Finally, when she was satisfied with the state of herself, she picked herself up off the ground, wrung out her hair a few times, and began the careful journey back.

Slow, slower, slowest. By the time she reached the couple waiting by their car, they looked like they were ready to pass out on their feet. She figured they'd be in a rush to get back, so taking initiative, she moved to open the car door and slip inside. A hand stopped her.

"Finally," the snake mumbled, hand wrapped tightly around her forearm. Lindsay turned to him questioningly.

That's when he slammed her up against the car and began throttling her.

Thunk, thunk, thunk, beaten against metal, and she felt her vision start to go black. His grip around her neck cinched her breathing and she couldn't gain footing to fight back. She heard the shorter man begin shouting; letting her collapse onto the jungle floor, the snake man turned to the other with his eyebrows raised, body tensed.

"Stop it, Arto, she's not worth any trouble!" His gun was hanging lowered by his side now that she was 'safe', sputtering as she clambered drunkenly away from him.

"Fuck no," The snake man hissed, so fitting, Lindsay thought, before realizing that she might get pummeled again; bracing herself, she began searching the ground for anything she could use, a twig, a branch, anything she could have to catch him off guard, but she saw nothing amongst the fallen leaves and small rocks that could hold her ground. "Vaa_s_ keeps thi_s_ one all to him_s_elf, probably makes u_s_ take her out here to clean up so she'_s_ ready to fuck. Who care_s_ whether it's him or me who get_s_ it in first?"

The short man fingered his gun nervously, as if debating whether to raise it and fight or not_. Point it at him,_ Lindsay prayed as her vision swam, _point it at him you son of a bitch or else he's going to oh god-_

He moved a moment too late. As he raised the gun the other was already firing the pistol he yanked from his waistband. A jarring crack, a spray of red shooting from the back of his neck, and suddenly Lindsay realized that she had just lost her lifeline.

She screamed, not for the blood, but for herself.

He turned on her, releasing an echoing chuckle that stretched beyond the swallow of the trees. "You _still_ not used to this yet, hm, _s_weetheart? For a bitch who act_s_ like queen of the jungle, you _s_ure are a _s_cared little kitten, aren't you?"

Run, her instincts said; her knees bent, ready to spring, but the man was again a moment ahead of the movement and trained the gun straight on her forehead.

"Get over here. I'll make it quick. I won't even bite. Not like I did to the other one." He licked his eyeteeth languidly, enjoying the look of panic that had overtaken her face. "Oh, you should _s_ee her, prince_ss_. She mi_ss_es you. Ask_s_ about you every day, wondering if you have it as bad as her."

Lindsay was frozen. She couldn't will her feet to move in either direction, forward or backward, towards possible freedom and probable death or towards probable death entirely. The man's impatience grew visible on his face; he shot off a few rounds, _bang bang bang_, into the air, then retrained it on her. "Come on. Now."

And then she saw it again.

A swiftly moving sheen of green, out of the corner of her eye. In that brief flash of scales, she saw hope, hope personified in the most terrifying thing she had ever seen meeting the most terrifying situation she had ever been in.

Lindsay didn't even need to act like she hadn't seen it; the man wasn't paying attention now that she was moving forward slowly, too, each step careful and light. She had to make sure that she wouldn't reach him before her savior did, so she stumbled a bit on an overgrown tree root, making a show of her ankle twisted by the angle she fell. She heard his exasperated sigh, oh _fuck yes_, he stayed still, though he was getting angrier, "Come on, you fucking bi-"

_Snap._

The wet sound of jaws clenching on bone, reptile eating reptile.

The man screamed, tried to dislodge his calf from the crocodile's teeth, but it was a lost battle; Lindsay saw the bone splintered out and the flesh torn off and knew he was going nowhere. The gun cartwheeled out of his hands as he hit the ground, discharging a stream of fast bullets through the trees. When Lindsay saw that it had fallen far enough away that he couldn't reach it in time to stop her, she forced her eyes off of his writhing form (crack snap she heard the crocodile roll and more flesh ripped with a disgusting squick) and jumped into the (thankfully) still-running jeep.

Lindsay then realized that she hadn't driven properly since she passed her exam last year. In her defense, there had never been a need to; back home there were boys for that, and here there were boys for that, too. But now she took a crash course in operating a shitty jeep, slamming the gas with a similar jerk and taking off. She tried to ignore the screams; and eventually, when she had reached the road and felt the speed and relief come over her body, she could.

Rush. There came the thrill. The thrill of survival. The thrill of cheating death.

The wind whipped in Lindsay's hair, her young face turned up to the sun, smiling, laughing as the thrashing waves of blonde tickled her nose as it dried in the breeze. Instinctively, her hand reached for the radio, and after a moment or two of fumbling with its controls, music blared from the speakers in a volume high enough to match her own. Something loud, something with drums, crashing like the bullets that missed her everywhere she went. She was young, she was clean, she was…

Invincible.

Lindsay looked up. She hadn't been paying attention to where she had been speeding off to, but her soul had taken the wheel and led her right back to where she belonged. She saw the huts clustered in the distance, knew she could spin the wheel and be headed off to paradise, but why, when paradise was here and there was so little to be lost?

A familiar set of brown eyes were trained upon the car as it sputtered into stillness in the clearing it belonged in. Standing up, leaning over the black bars that marked off its rooflessness, Lindsay spread out her arms wide and leaned her head back in a gesture that seemed to blissfully cry, _I'm home_.

I'm home.


	6. Chapter 6: Stranger Danger

Author's Note: Again, huge thanks to everyone who reads this story. I have to apologize in advance for my shitty Spanish; I studied the language for years, I have no damn excuse except for laziness and lack of practice. XD (Also, writing a character whom I secretly have the hots for is difficult, especially when my character has no interest in him whatsoever. So excuse any semblance of my crush on a certain Australian mercenary and know that my love for Vaas is undying. XD) Enjoy, y'all!

* * *

"_What would mother think of my becoming a pirate?"_

~ Wendy, Peter Pan (2003).

* * *

The freedom came in spills, little moments that pooled together from day to day until she was confident in walking around the camp on her own. At first she was nothing but a curious little shadow, following Vaas or Redface on tiptoe, watching them from a distance as they went about their daily businesses. She would perch upon a sturdy crate that sat outside her cabin, legs mimicking the Indian criss-cross that all the pirates would settle into, and observe the constant flow of people from the road leading into the camp. Shoddy jeeps would leave in droves every morning and return when the light was fading from the sky, their passengers exhausted and happy to trade off with the men who would take the evening patrols. She would name each one as they passed her by, "blondie", "toothless", got to know which ones were friendlier and which ones were best to avoid. Some would even talk to her about the activities around the camp; she realized that, with such violence and chaos as their daily routine, they had few people to brag their achievements to that weren't completely desensitized to it. But Lindsay was always enthusiastic to learn about the sieges they held over the local people, the men that had been standing too close to the tiger cage when it was being fed, the stories that explained the bangs and booms she heard every afternoon.

The longer she talked, the more she wanted to know about the island that swam around her. But not many of Vaas's men were willing to talk about the history of Rook, mainly because it seemed that no one _knew_ anything. The pirates came from a grab bag of countries around the world, the majority from Thailand and its neighbor Cambodia but a fair few from all across South or Central America. The trafficking business on the island had only been really thriving in the past year; before that, the events that took place here were either unknown or just simply forgotten for the sake of convenience. Lindsay would've just asked Vaas herself, but… Well, she'll admit it, he still kinda scared the fuck out of her.

This changed when a stranger came into camp. One that was all too willing to talk about the things she vied for. The only problem was getting him to _shut up_.

He and his men came on what felt like a Tuesday, but could've been the day before or the day after (there were no days of the week in this camp; there was yesterday, today, tomorrow, and deadlines, but she never heard any specifics). Lindsay, sitting atop her usual spot, scanned their car for a moment or two, but soon lost focus; they were probably just more from the outpost a few miles east, and Lindsay had already talked to a few of them earlier in the day.

What _did_ catch her attention was a voice. It was an accent she hadn't heard yet on the island. She had heard everything from Thai to Mexican to Japanese to Indian (a very nice man named Paraque, who brought her a godsend brush a few days back, so she could finally work out the kinks in her hair), but there was one she _definitely_ hadn't heard, and much less expected.

She slipped down from her seat and padded over to the crowd of men who had gathered to greet the newcomers. Vaas was among them; Lindsay dodged and pushed her way around the others to reach him, settling quietly at his shoulder. Ever since the crocodile incident (which had been explained in exasperated detail for hours until his men believed her story, Vaas of course being more entertained than suspicious because, evidently, she had returned on her own free will) there was a certain level of childlike wonder Lindsay had adopted whenever she watched him work, an attitude that no doubt seemed to inspire him to act out when she was nearby; Redface had told her more than once that she of all people brought the worst out in him.

This time would probably be no different; his wink of acknowledgement towards her was quick enough she barely caught it before he turned to the men, booming, "Whatchu got for me, eh, Bambi?"

_Bambi_? Lindsay scanned the six or so men that had entered the camp and was fairly certain that none of them fit the title of some cute-ass deer. In response, the man at the center of the throng chuckled, motioned to the car with a hand loosely grasping a half-burnt cigarette, and shrugged.

"You see any tied up in there today, ace?"

There was the accent! Australian, pure Australian drawl. Lindsay's eyes attached to him like Velcro, a man who appeared late-thirties or early forties, brunette hair with a few stray greys sifting through it. White, obviously, but his skin was still tinted dark by the unmerciful sun of Rook. She peeked through the folds of his dark blue shirt and glimpsed the ink of a tattoo peeking out from below his collarbone, a twist of what looked like an antler, before he moved again and the skin was hidden from view.

"Besides, I'm not dealing in the live ones anymore. 'nless you got any you want off your hands, well, then…" His laugh was a disconcerting snigger, the laugh of a man who always seemed to know something that you didn't, and it made Lindsay (along with a few of the other pirates, who looked sort of queasy for some reason) steel her guard up a bit stronger.

Vaas waved his hand, and the men slowly began dissolving back to their previous businesses, leaving the new group to the pirate leader himself. Not knowing whether to shift back with the others or stay put, she began backing up slowly out of Vaas's shadow, intending to turn around and shuffle off back to her box. However, a sharp bark, "_Wait!_" halted her sharply in her tracks. She froze, eyes darting up at the Australian man with an expression that more or less said "Er, what? _Me_?"

"This one's new. What's your name, sweetheart?" he called, and the men around him sniggered. Before she could move forward to answer, Vaas was already moving for her, head shaking and arm pushing her roughly along towards the camp.

"This one es mía cautiva por ahora, ¿de acuerdo? Órdenes de Hoyt. Si quieres esta chica, tu y tus hombres tienen que matarme, o el va a matarme en su lugar, ¿comprendes?" To Lindsay, it was a sudden jumble of Spanish tossed over his shoulder that made no sense; but the other man must've understood and was already shooting Lindsay raised eyebrows, interest piquing in an area distinctly above his belt. Vaas continued: "And besides…" he paused, thoughtful, before hiding a grimace as he turned away. "She's really not your usual type."

The Australian shrugged. "Eh, flip 'em over, you can't tell the difference. Plus I've never had a nice little schoolgirl all to m'self. Put her in pigtails, mate, you won't regret it." He clapped Vaas on the arm, gave Lindsay a quick wink that made her stomach turn over, and sauntered to join his crew that had already dispersed throughout the huts.

Vaas waited until the man was far enough away before leaning into her ear and whispering, "That man is fucking crazy, eh?"

Before she could stop herself, she had busted out giggling. The idea of _Vaas_ of all people calling someone else crazy was too ridiculous for her to keep a straight face. A beat later, and he was laughing with her; he seemed to have shared the same thought. Running his hair affectionately through her hair with a quick brush of his fingers, he told her: "Keep close tonight, okay, Lins? I don't trust these fuckers and I'd like you in one piece."

She nodded; satisfied, he pressed his customary kiss to her forehead and wandered back, her ambling along after him, uneasy but surprisingly content.

Lins. When had he started calling her that? It could've been yesterday, maybe the day before. She had been writing alone on her cabin floor when he had ambled in, in a rare sort of calm that was born from a lazy day at work. The camp had been all but dead quiet that morning, and she had spent most of it lying out in the burning sun and drifting between sleeping and awake. Now, she scrawled feverishly with one of four mechanical pencils she found in the storage hut, stuck deep inside a desk drawer and completely unused. They had let her take the pencils along with a few sheets of paper; what could she do, they thought, send a fucking letter to the Thai police force?

He had stretched out beside her, all firm muscle and heat radiating off every inch of his sun-ravaged body, a few of his stiff black hairs falling from their usual upright position and into his forehead. He still smelled like dead things and burnt things and other equally as gross things, but for some reason that no longer registered in Lindsay's mind (or, more specifically, her nose); instead, she just forced herself to focus on the paper in front of her to ignore the juvenile blush that fought to overtake her cheeks whenever he was close.

In moments like these, he was silent. So used to his bravado and loudness whenever he was in front of his men or his enemies, Lindsay was still caught off-guard by how quiet Vaas could be when only she was watching. It was in these moments that she got to close her eyes and listen to the low whisper of his breath as it tickled her neck, or feel the escaping warmth that streamed from his body to hers from how near he was.

She glanced at him and saw that his eyes were already scanning across the page; knowing that she hadn't written anything too personal, she continued without asking him to stop.

* * *

_Dear mom,_

_I don't know why I'm writing to you. There is no way of getting this to you, and I'm sure you don't want to hear from me anyway, but I'm trying and that's what counts. Now it might also be because your husband (I won't call him my father) fucked me over and more or less left me here to die, stuck on an island filled with trigger-cock-happy douchebags (okay some aren't _that_ bad, I'll be nice just for those few), but then again you won't be getting this so what's the use of complaining hm?_

_If you were reading this you'd notice I swear a lot more than I did before you left. Blame your husbands SHITTY influence. I'd tell you about everything that happened so far, but there's not enough blank paper left in this camp and I want to make the most of every inch. So you don't get any details or cute pictures of tigers this time, momma, just boring boring words. _

_Maybe I'll save this and give it to you if I ever see you again. That would be nice wouldn't it? But I've run out of shit to say. I guess I'll write when something happens. I'm not really writing this for you at all, more for me. Like a diary._

_~ Lins_

* * *

"Huh?" Lindsay turned her head to him. She had been finished writing for a minute or so, but hadn't wanted to move the paper because it looked like he was still reading. But he had just said something that was swallowed by her thoughts; now he seemed finished, so she folded the paper up into thirds, creasing the edges with her blistered knuckles, and shoved it under the once-white pillow that sat on the floor of the room.

He didn't answer. Just continued to stare thoughtfully at the note, then at her, back and forth, to the point where it became uncomfortable again and Lindsay remembered that she should be scared shitless of him. Just when she was about to hurriedly shift away and make her own little escape he was already pushing himself back onto his feet, and she heard him mutter the same something quietly under his breath.

"Huh?" she repeated, before mentally smacking herself for sounding even more clueless than usual.

He turned back, a small but noticeable smile racing across his lips, before saying, "_Lins_. That's just… that's just a cute nickname for you, you know. Your momma call you that?"

Lindsay took a moment before lightly bobbing her head in acknowledgement, her eyes swiftly growing guarded and… Vaas squinted as he looked down at her, determined to catch whatever it was that had flashed across her vision. Resentment?

He had just opened his mouth to ask her again, but she was already brusquely answering him, tone clipped and precise. "Yes. Since I was two. It's the only nickname I've ever had. The only one I was okay with people calling me, actually. All the other ones sounded stupid."

That seemed to be a can of worms that Vaas had no intention of screwing open. He was already out the door within a second after she finished speaking; his sudden departures were the one thing that pissed Lindsay off about him more than anything else. He was like a goddamn child with a short attention span.

Still. She was left with a warm fuzz in her stomach and an irrepressible smile playing across her lips. Rolling over to the spot where he had been beside her, she swore she could still feel some gentle heat lingering on the floorboards beneath. To her, he never left. It was just a matter of time before that heat ran out and he'd be back again.

* * *

The night of the stranger's arrival, they were gathered around the largest fire that sat near the center of the camp. This was Lindsay's favorite time to be out of her cabin and weaving herself into the crowd of pirates who had settled in for the night. Everyone was relaxed, good-humored, making jokes and playing cards and avoiding pissing off one another. She would see Redface with his bandana removed, smiling, a gap-toothed grin that was too big for the rest of his face but was still undoubtedly charming. People would bring up everything: their pasts, their families, their lives that had mostly been left behind since their journey here. It was a moment away from the madness, the chaos, that governed over the island.

Normally, Lindsay would sit in the cluster, anonymous but present. She loved listening to the stories, especially the ones that dealt with America; only a handful of Vaas's men had been there, but the way those few described it made a deep nostalgia pang inside her chest. It hadn't been that long since her family had moved to Thailand with the trade; however, her fish-out-of-water attitude was fading fast amongst the battle-worn faces that surrounded her. The sooner she forgot about "home", she decided, the better.

Tonight, she wandered over to a spot directly in front, next to where Vaas sat on the ground, his legs crossed under his body and his hands working his pocketknife over the stones that surrounded the fire. She took his warning seriously; not waiting for him to acknowledge her, she got close, ducking her head under his arm so it was wrapped around her shoulders. Before she could squirm around a bit to get comfortable, he gently pushed her sideways, laying her head across his thigh and sweeping the hair out of her face. Wordlessly, he began picking and untangling the knots out of her blonde waves; it was something that he seemed to obsess over, much like how he picked at his skin or his fingernails, but Lindsay didn't really mind. If the most painful thing Vaas was going to do to her was yank at a few knots, she was more than happy.

The stranger sat on the opposite side, chattering loudly to the others.

"So then, I tell you, he gets nosy. He starts pokin' in and out of my books, tryin' ta get an inch on what I've been doing. And Hector, he finds out, he comes runnin' to tell me like a good boy. So I catch the bastard red handed with my shit in his bag, and guess what I do? I blow the fucker's cock clean off and keep it as a fucking souvenier!"

The man was guffawing. The others were dead silent. Some looked at each other in muted disgust. When he noticed this, the stranger sobered, wiping some glistening spot away from his eye (tears of laughter?), murmuring, "Tough crowd, eh? Maybe I should switch onto a lighter topic. How bout a history lesson?"

A collective groan rose from the throng; one by one, they started backing away from the fireside and heading off to their cabins, their muscles creaking and their chit-chat subsiding as exhaustion set in and robbed the last of their energy. She felt the muscles in Vaas's legs tense up as he started to rise as well, but she quickly wrapped her hand around his wrist and tried futilely to pull him back down. "No," she told him, "No, I wanna hear this. Can I stay?"

Vaas's eyebrows shot up, and he shrugged off her grip with relative ease. Visibly perturbed, he looked long and hard at the man, his eyes wary and indignant. But, with a resigned shrug, he decided against the argument and allowed her to stay, ambling away with the others after another quick ruffle of her hair, leaving her alone with the stranger by the fire.

"Vaas not used to lettin' ya off the leash?"

Lindsay's attention snapped back to the stranger, who was leaning forward towards the fire and sipping quietly out of a green glass bottle. She could pick out the specks of beer that clung in drops on his salt-and-pepper beard and inwardly fought the urge to reach over and swipe them off. He was already in a later stage of drunkenness, she could tell, but his question was cohesive enough to where she knew he was expecting a keen reply.

"I'm not his pet." _Asshole_. She kept that insult locked in her throat. She was fairly okay with cussing out members of Vaas's team now, seeing as they all knew that she was off-limits, but this man was obviously on his own agenda. Plus, she figured, being polite wouldn't hurt, especially with someone that all the other pirates seem to be wary of.

The man waved a hand mindlessly in her captor's direction. "That's not what he thinks. Pretty sure that's not what you think, either, eh sweetheart?" He took another prolonged swig from the bottle, tipping it back when it was nearly empty and shaking the last drops from its neck before continuing. "But you're smart enough to keep quiet and wait it out. I like that. Name's Buck."

"Lindsay," she responded, pausing to suck on her lip in thought before asking, "And wait what out, exactly?"

Buck pulled a cigarette out of the flannel pocket of his shirt, leaning over the fire and holding it in the flames until it caught light. "Well, till your dad swings by and picks you up, right? That's the whole reason you're here, not because the roses smell fuckin' nice."

Lindsay was confused. "Wait, how do you know about my father?"

The stranger laughed, ashes raining down onto his jeans in a chalky grey cloud. "See, we haven't had a batch of newcomers in weeks. Trade's been slow, I've been taking to a few other professions… Unpleasant business. Anyway, you're the first gal that walks in, of course people are gonna talk. Tall dark n' handsome hasn't been telling you bout my blokes coming in trying to buy your sweet little ass every morning, has he?"

Lindsay's fingers tightened into fists, her fingernails digging into the soft palms of her hands and leaving reddened half-moons stamped onto her skin. Before she could retort the stranger noticed her tension and quickly interjected, "No, no, don't you worry your pretty little head. Vaas's a damn good businessman. Keeps promises more than a lot of us would. He turned down a few good offers, mind you, so you better show him some gratitude."

His knowing glances were unbearable. She was sick of every man who saw her giving her those same goddamn looks whenever Vaas was mentioned; this time, however, she didn't respond to the taunt. Instead, she simply said, "So you know about the island? History, that stuff?"

"I might. You'll be the first interested, I tell you that." His slur mixed in with his accent made his words almost unrecognizable; she agreed when he continued, "Maybe later. Better time, better place, all that. I'll be back through when the next ship is in to buy a few m'self."

His attempts to get up nearly led him headfirst into the fire; Lindsay quickly blocked his fall and let his arm loop around her neck in support, the man weighing far more than she had originally guessed but not enough to where she couldn't hold him. She resigned to walk him to the cabin herself without asking anyone for help. _I'll show you pet,_ she thought._ I can do this damn well on my own. I'm a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a goddamn knight in busted armor…_

He grabbed her ass twice on the way back. She pretended she didn't feel it. She did, however, drop him brusquely onto his cabin porch before returning to her own, limbs sore, mind numbed, drained from being under the weight of one truly drunken asshole. She was comforted solely in the fact that the fall was probably gonna hurt him like hell in the morning, no doubt about it.


	7. Chapter 7: In the Corner

Chapter Seven: In the Corner

Author's Note: I. Love. All. Of. You. *_* I have fallen in love with not only my reviewers, but with this entire fanfiction communitiy; I'm so happy to be part of such a talented bunch of writers that have way too much time on our hands and a crazy obsession with this beautiful universe! Alas. On with the story! Enjoy~!

~Kat

* * *

"_The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it."_

_Peter Pan__, James Barry._

* * *

_You forget your place._

"What?"

His face was stretched and sallow, drawn like a bad pencil sketch using nothing but charcoal greys; Lindsay saw it morphing grotesquely in her vision and knew that she had to be either high as fuck or dreaming. And seeing as she hadn't taken any drugs lately, she assumed that she was deep in sleep. _Pinch yourself, Lins, wake up_.

Her hand remained frozen at her side.

_You forget everything. You're so stupid, you know that? That's why I sent you there. My stupid little daughter getting herself cut open by pirates because she walks right into their arms to _cuddle_._

It wasn't her father anymore. It was someone taller and darker and their hair was on fire, on _fire_, and Lindsay couldn't look away from it no matter how hard she tried, like a helpless bug in front of its inevitable death at the hands of a lantern zapper. He was a stranger. He was everyone she knew. He was burning out her irises in his anger and she fought to shut the light out, but her eyes were plastered open and unable to turn away from his brilliance.

_The first place you feel wanted, you stay. You stop fighting. Pathetic. Open your eyes, Lins. Look at what's around you. See this disgusting shithole for what it really is. _

He was blonde and young and smiling and smelt so familiar, tanned hand reaching out to her over the sharp siding of the boat, "Time to shove off, _miss_, don't want your dad to be pissed that we're late again, huh, Lins? Haha!"

_Look at me._

Wait, Tim?

_Come h-_

Lindsay shut her eyes tightly. The face disappeared in a haze of blacks and blues, and the sharp throb of awareness brought her back to consciousness as a voice whispered loudly in her ear-

* * *

"_Wake up, princess_."

She opened her eyes to _**fuck.**_What was it with pirates and their lack of respect for personal space? The man who was shaking her awake was over top of her, one foot on either side of her body, hulkering down as if trying to remain unseen by anyone who might pass by the window. Lindsay strained her eyes in the darkness that swam around the room and recognized his hairstyle before his voice registered in his mind. Just Redface.

"I'm gonna scream rape," she hissed moodily, smacking at the face in front of her with both hands in an attempt to make him back away. But he didn't, just crouched there quietly over her, _you think you really can hurt me?_ stamped all over his definitively unmasked face. "And you don't get to call me princess. That's reserved for Vaas, got it?"

Redface shrugged, his whisper barely audible. "Not my fault. I hear you yellin your head off and come to check on, but you were asleep."

"Yelling?" Oh yeah. Dreaming and shit. Her head still swam with an image or two that wouldn't just slip away. It must've still been obnoxiously early in the morning; she could barely see more than a foot in front of her, much less tell how long she had been out. She focused on him in the dim light that filtered in from the dying fire outside, but he was quiet and motionless. The moment stretched out. The silence grew pained and awkward.

"You're not getting lucky, if that's what you're hoping for."

He snorted, a sound which quickly turned into a hackneyed cough that echoed from his prematurely ruined lungs; he stifled it in the sleeve of his crimson T-shirt, emphasizing her suspicion that he seemed afraid of being noticed by anyone outside. "You think," he began, his voice a harsh, sandpapery whisper, "that everyone on this goddamn island wants a piece of you, don't you? I might like you, muñequita, but you ain't my type of hot stuff by a long shot."

…oh. Well, fine. Lindsay shifted uncomfortably in her spot, pride sore and anger stirring somewhere in her gut. "Then what the fuck are you doing in here? Get out!"

She shimmied backwards from underneath his legs and stood up swiftly, legs wobbling briefly as they adjusted to having weight put on them so abruptly. When she moved towards the door, he quickly stepped in her path, blocking the exit completely with his broad frame.

"Hear me out, muñequita. Please."

She was really getting tired of this muñequita bullshit. And anyone who cared to take a second glance at Lindsay in the morning could easily deduce that she was clearly not, to put it lightly, a morning person. Her pissy attitude would not be stopped by no person or pirate who got in her way, especially not this guy, this nameless henchman who more or less called her unattractive. So her next actions were done in begrudging silence; she sat back down on the floor, crossed her legs, took a deep, reaching breath, and allowed him to continue speaking.

"I'm not a stupid man, Lindsay. I can tell what you are doing." He shifted backwards to lean against the wooden doorframe, his eyes searching her expression for any reaction. She only gave him a quirked eyebrow and a sarcastic go on. "You've been playing along with Vaas to gain his affections. Then, when his guard is down, you'll take your chance and bolt. Smart, for an American. Not smart enough, though, to get past me."

Wait, what? "Listen, Redface-,"

"Manuel, Lindsay. That is my name, and since we're going to be talking like this, I'd prefer you use it instead of your crude little nickname."

Oh, he was asking for it now. "Fine, Manuel," she plastered on her best Spanish pronunciation, letting the L flick off her tongue in a masked show of vehemence. "You've got everything wron-,"

He cut her off again. "I don't think Vaas has noticed yet. But he will. He is no fool, Lindsay; he's as sharp as the fang of a viper. You won't be getting out of here without help."

Exasperated, Lindsay tried again. "I know that, that's because-,"

He silenced her by slapping down some papers on the floor in front of her. She couldn't read them in the light where they sat, so she leaned forward and scraped the nearest one closer to her with a tentative hand. Across the top, she could barely decipher the bold faced letters with what little Thai she knew: "Ticket… for one to… Surat Thani? As in Thailand?"

"There are two, if you notice. One for us both."

Lindsay stared long and hard at the crinkled paper, then slowly raised her gaze to meet his own. He was looking down at her with a steady, yet smug expression. "I paid a great deal for these. Hopefully your father is as forthcoming with rewards as he has claimed to be, else I'll have to take a few wallets on our way."

"You're… you're helping me escape?" Lindsay was incredulous, her mind racing and her thoughts whirring around like loose cogs on a broken machine. Was this an elaborate trap set by Vaas to see if she had the guts to take off? Was he going to jump through the window the second she accepted (_if she accepted at all,_ a dark voice echoed somewhere that only she could hear) and run her through with the closest pointy object?

No. Lindsay saw beneath his pompous squared shoulders a tremble that even she could detect, betraying nothing but utter nervousness. He was just as terrified as she was of this idea, but was pushing a cocky exterior to make her trust in him.

"Hide them under your pillow, somewhere between all that paper. Vaas will be too busy tomorrow to snoop around your room. Then, at dusk, I will make sure to slip something into his daily recreation that will ensure he does not wake up. Ever."

Her chest jerked upwards in a sudden jolt. Before she could collect her thoughts (and awkward emotional responses), he continued.

"Once I am sure he is dead and the entire camp is aware, we will take off among the chaos. No one will notice us leaving if everyone else is leaving as well to search for his killers, eh? That way we make it to Thailand without even raising the alarm for you."

She remained stoically focused on the ticket held in her trembling hand, unable to respond. Luckily it seemed as if he wasn't waiting for her to; he was already backing out the door, calling in a whisper over his shoulder, "Just wait for me. Act normal. You're good at that, muñequita."

The door shut behind him with a soft thud no louder than a heartbeat. No louder than _her_ heartbeat, which was thundering in her ribcage, only audible in her pained, self-induced silence.

Her rational side was beating against her brain with unabashed fervor, and she shoved the tickets under her pillow, stashing them between the middle pages in a panic. _Keep them there. Don't touch them. Take them and run. Wait for Redface. Escape, Lindsay, __**escape**__._

She planted her face firmly on the pillow, inhaling its smell in an attempt to calm her nerves, but _fuck_, just like everything else here, it smelled like _him_.

_Lindsay, what are you doing? _

The tickets were in her hands again. She was staring at them, threw them onto the floor, leaned over them and warily inspected them for authenticity. But she couldn't tell; she couldn't read Thai to save her life, and that's exactly what this was.

Drip. Drip.

Surprised, Lindsay looked down and saw a brief glisten on the tickets before her tears were absorbed into the paper. The cheap black ink in the corner blurred.

Resolve built up in her chest. The deepest form of resolve, the type a hanged man makes to himself as he walks to the gallows with his head held high. Tomorrow, she would meet her own sort of death.

The death of her sanity, it seemed.

* * *

The sun rose up far too soon, in her opinion.

Her eyes, unrested from a night with little sleep, winced under the horrible Rook sun that mercilessly poured into the room, alerting her of the day's beginning. Already she heard the stumbling awakenings of the pirates in the surrounding cabins and knew that Vaas would most likely be among them; he was a late to bed, early to rise type of man, not a moment wasted in between.

She exited her hut and fumbled her way to the top of her crate. Normal. Acting normal. Her usual position betrayed nothing. She watched as the men trickled one by one to their daily activities, jeeps revving, jeeps leaving, men walking around in lazy circles as they accustomed to the grind again. Acting normal. She waved to everyone that looked her way, her customary sendoff; most of them waved back.

Redface emerged from the furthest shack, and Lindsay marveled at his lack of tension as he made his way to the weapons cache. As he fitted a silencer on to his rifle she saw him bantering with the other men in a boisterous manner; no one but her could tell he was probably scared stiff under his skin.

Catching her eye, he gave her a quick confirmatory nod; she shared it back. Her eyes never left him as he finished his work, following him as he continued his walk towards the road leading out of the camp, where he settled leisurely against a watch tower. The perfect ruse. He could seem like he was working hard and still know exactly where she and Vaas were at all times. She forced herself to remain seated firmly on her box, fingers drumming in a panicked beat on its side as she waited.

Hour after hour after hour. Coiled up in her chest, a nervous sickness began eating its way through her throat. She couldn't take much more of this. She saw the sun overhead move past its peak and begin its slow descent downwards, hour after hour after hour. When it was touching the top of the trees her eyes found Redface's again for what seemed like the first time in ages; another confirmatory nod, and he pushed himself up from his resting place and began walking in the direction of the hut furthest east from the camp.

Where they keep the drugs, she realized. The one building that every man seemed to visit at least three or four times a day, almost like cracked-out clockwork. Lindsay had avoided this place like the plague (while she could appreciate the business of drugs, she was no connoisseur herself, and she knew how fucked up people could get under their very stiff influence), and it looked like she was going to have to break that oath sometime today, if all went to plan.

His back disappeared through the door.

Every muscle in Lindsay's body ripped in action as she sprung from the crate and began running at a breakneck pace, dainty limbs pumping in a weakened impression of the athletes she had seen in many a Gatorade commercial. _Please_, she begged a God she had ignored since her last near-death experience, _please let him be in his cabin, please let him have stayed in for the day, oh God please-_

She burst through the door and he whipped around instantly, standing on guard and hand placed protectively on his machete that was holstered to his waist. When he saw that it was her, his expression instantly softened, though his body remained tense and alert.

"Vaas, I need to talk to you now," Lindsay blurted, trying her hardest to avoid hyperventilating all over the place. This was not the time for panic, this was not the time to look weak. She let her eyes take in the room; she had never seen the inside of Vaas's room before. It was… not much to be envied, really; it was almost identical to the other cabins, only varying in the amount of debris that coated the floor. Hypodermic needles were messily lined up beside a mattress that looked like it had been burned in several places, the orange-and-red blanket that rested on top of it curled into a ball at its corner. The only sign that this room was designated for someone a step above the others was the TV that sat on the floor, hooked up to a combination video cassette and DVD player, with a large stack of discs and tapes piled up next to it. She instinctively made an effort to watch her feet as she stepped farther into the room, afraid of either injecting herself with some fucked up concoction or accidentally breaking a disc or two.

He looked amused, she noticed. He sat down on the corner of his bed, pushing the blanket away, and motioned expectantly. "I'm all ears, princesa."

…

Lindsay was speaking before she could stop herself.

"That's… that's one thing I fucking l-…" she stuttered, breathing heavy, "_love_ about you, Vaas Montenegro." Exasperatedly, she flopped down onto the mattress beside him, the tension leaking from her bones and turning her inhibition into complete reckless abandon. She didn't wait for him to adapt to her presence; instead, she settled comfortably into his bed as she whipped the tickets out of her back pocket and threw them into the air. "When I want to tell you something, you don't act condescending, you don't cut me off. You're the only person who has ever taken me seriously, which is why I'm choosing to save your ass and not my own. So voi-fucking-la."

_Ignore the black smudges in the corner, please_, she wanted to add as he leaned to pick up a ticket from where it fell on the floor. She bit her lip in anticipation as she watched his eyes scan the paper once, twice, three times, as if he wanted to make sure.

"I also wouldn't recommend taking any kind of drugs that you've got in that main hut for the next few days. Lord knows what he's doing to them right now."

"Who?" Vaas asked in his calmest voice possible, fingering the edge of the ticket until he got a defined papercut across the side of his pointer finger. He wiped the bead of blood that formed there absentmindedly on his trousers.

Lindsay hesitated for a moment. It was far too late for her to chicken her way out. She had committed to this batshit crazy plan of hers, and she was going to see it through to the end. So why was this name so hard for her to say?

She took a consuming breath before exhaling her response. "Manuel."

"Not Redface anymore, is he, when you're throwing him under a bus," Vaas commented, moving his hands in slow, careful movements as he tore the ticket top to bottom, once, twice, three times, more. The shreds floated down to the floor in a scattered flurry. Lindsay felt sick again. "And if I were to believe you, that means that he's in my little hoard right now fucking my entire supply up right now, eh?"

"Yes!" she said impatiently, throwing her hands up in the air and getting pissed at how he was doubting her. "Which is why you need to move a little faster, jefe, if you don't want you and your men fucked in the ass by nightfall! I know how dependent you are on these drugs, Vaas, everyone else is too. I'm trying… I'm trying to help."

The second ticket was being taken apart as well, and Lindsay saw his eyes linger on the ink smudges before ripping that section off and crumpling it in his palm. He turned to look at her, a deep, penetrating look that somehow bypassed all her current high-strung emotions and brought her to a standstill.

"Why?" he asked simply.

…

She couldn't answer him with words. And he didn't need them. He saw it in the flash of a tear that escaped from her eye, stopping halfway down her left cheek, at the _mere thought_ of him dying, and he knew.

This bitch was _obsessed_.

Pushing himself off the mattress and onto his feet, Vaas grabbed his favorite shotgun from its perch against the only window, which faced away from the camp. A few muscle memory movements later, and it was fully loaded, cocked in his firm grip as he pushed his way out the door. She moved to follow; he waved her down. "Stay here, princesa. You'll get your chance later."

The door shut. The scene that followed, according to Lindsay, can only be recalled in sound; she was too afraid to find the courage to peek out through the sizeable gap in the doorframe as she had done so many times before in her own cabin.

Footsteps. Shuffling. Silence.

_Bang_.

A primal yell. Cursing, angry cursing.

_You piece of fuck._

_Bang_.

The sound of something being dragged away.

Laughter and screaming that overlapped one another that faded off into the distance, until Lindsay could hear nothing but the gentle chatter of the men outside and the rush of the island wind in the trees around her.

Chilled, Lindsay felt the sudden want to be comforted. She looked at the blanket that sat untidily clustered near her feet. It was a well-worn thing, stained with the grotesque combinations of a man who had no access to any type of proper laundry equipment. Blood, dirt, semen. _Ew_. All sentimental notions of wrapping herself up in Vaas's possession quickly evaporated; she shoved the thing even farther away from her with her foot.

Instead, she resigned herself to curling up on the mattress, ignoring the mirroring stains that were collected on it as well. She made herself enjoy the feeling of something soft underneath her, a far cry from the plush bed that awaited her at home (if she ever got there at all) but better than the hardwood floor that she had been subjected to night after night. She made a mental note to thank Vaas later for letting her have these brief moments, no matter how short they may be, of relaxation in his space.

It might have been due to the lack of sleep from the previous night, or because of her high-wired tension throughout the day. But Lindsay found herself unable to resist passing out on that spongy surface, allowing herself to be swallowed up by her vulnerability once more. She couldn't resist the thought, however, of Vaas coming back later that night to find her there. What, oh what, would he do?

For the first time since her arrival at Rook Island, Lindsay fell asleep with a shit-eating grin on her face and slept more soundly than a dead man.


End file.
